


Just Like the Fairy Tales

by ckofshadows



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 10:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckofshadows/pseuds/ckofshadows
Summary: Kurt is a hopeless romantic who has been dreaming of Blaine Anderson ever since his name appeared on his hand.  When they finally meet, though, Blaine is nothing like the soulmate he expected.  And then there's the beautiful curly-haired boy in the park...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t think I’d ever write a soulmate fic, since there are so many wonderful ones out there. But I kept expecting to see one with this idea, and since I never have, I figured someone should write it.
> 
> (previously published on S&C during summer 2015)

As long as I can remember, I’ve been a silly romantic.

I used to watch Cinderella every night before bed, sighing as Prince Charming rode his stallion across the land, comparing soul marks with every young woman he passed.  His frustration was so palpable, I’d clench my little fists and groan along with him as each maiden revealed a different man’s name.  

“Why wouldn’t Cinderella just show him her mark when they met at the ball?” I would ask my mom.  “It would have saved them so much time!”

“It’s just a fairy tale, Kurt,” Mom would say every time.  “It’s not real.”

It  _felt_ real, though, when Cinderella pulled off her glove, and  _Prince Charming_ glowed in thin script on her palm.  She took the prince’s hand, and they gasped as their soul marks connected, and when they kissed, the music swelled—

“There aren’t really princes out there,” I said one day, sadly.  “Not in America, anyway, and most soulmates are from the same country.”  I was so dejected that I missed Mom’s sharp intake of breath.  It was only when I looked up that I realized my slip.  “I mean...”

“You’ll find your perfect match,” she assured me quickly.  “And royal or not, you’ll find them the most charming person on earth.”

We didn’t talk about it again, and at her funeral, as my dad sat beside me in the church pew, I wondered if she’d ever told him.  

“It’s just you and me now,” he said softly, taking my hand. I turned it and traced over the silvery script of my mother’s name.  I’d never felt so close to her, or so far.

 

* * *

Soul marks don’t appear until your fifteenth birthday, but I kept checking every morning of my fourteenth year anyway.  Every day I’d hold my breath in hope, and every day, my palm was blank.

“What if I don’t get it?” I asked my dad.  “What if I’m the first person in history not to get a soul mark?”

“Kurt, relax. There’s months to go before his name appears.  Eat your breakfast.”

I wondered if Mom had told him my secret, or if he’d figured it out for himself. 

Finn Hudson was the first person in the grade to get his mark, and the hearts of every girl at McKinley broke when he showed up to school with  _Anna McGovern_  written across his palm.  I bit back a sarcastic comment when Rachel threw herself sobbing to the floor, because if I were being honest, I’d sort of hoped to see my name on there too.

Puck was next, and people were shocked when head cheerleader Quinn Fabray’s name appeared on his hand.  I was in the cafeteria when he showed it to her, and the strangest expression crossed her face — something between elation and horror.  They didn’t have to wait long for the confirmation; less than a week later, Quinn came to school with Noah Puckerman written on her hand, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

Artie, and Tina, and Mercedes followed.  Those of us with spring birthdays watched enviously, and waited.

Finally, May came.  The night before my birthday, I couldn’t sleep.  I kept switching on my bedside light, checking to see if my soulmate’s name had appeared.  I’d been born in the early hours of the morning, but my dad wasn’t sure of the exact time, and refused to dig out my birth certificate.

“Kurt, go to sleep.  He’ll be there in the morning.”

I fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of warm smiles and honeyed eyes, soft touches and dark curls.  A little after three, I jolted awake, and turned on the light.  There, in the most lovely silver script across my palm, was a name.

“Blaine Anderson,” I read aloud. “Wherever you are, I love you already.”

 

* * *

High school got easier after that.  I wore a thin glove over my hand, as was required after the first day of marking, but I kept stealing away to the restroom to peel off the glove and gaze at my mark. Shoves into lockers and tosses into dumpsters couldn’t wipe the smile from my face.  

I had a soulmate.  Somewhere in the world was a boy meant just for me.

“Anderson is a common name in Europe,” I told my dad.

“I know, Kurt, you’ve mentioned that a couple hundred times. You think your soulmate lives in Europe?”

“No,” I said. “I feel like he’s close. I think we’ll meet any day now.”

“You don’t say,” my dad said drily, and I rolled my eyes.  Yes, I’d made the same claim for most of my life, but I  _felt_ Blaine now.  I just knew we’d meet, any day now.

 

* * *

I was fifteen and a half when I finally heard from Blaine.  

I’d dreamed about it every night.  We’d meet in a park, or a field somewhere.  There’d be a spark, a recognition.  I pictured fireworks.  Pounding hearts and swelling orchestras, and life as we knew it, changed forever.

Instead, I got an email.

**_To:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**__**

**_Dear Kurt,_ **

**__**

**_I hope you won’t think this is crazy, but I’m emailing every Kurt Hummel at every email domain I can think of.  Gmail, AOL, Hotmail, Yahoo, everywhere.  See, ever since my soul mark appeared, I’ve been waiting for you, but it’s so hard.  I want to meet you!!  I have this image of you in my head, and it’s all that keeps me going sometimes._ **

**__**

**_My name’s Blaine Anderson, and if you see my name on your palm, please write me back._ **

**__**

**_XO Blaine_ **

I was trembling by the time I’d finished reading the email.  He was out there, searching for me!  I wondered if he was in a high school nearby.  Maybe he was a singer too.  

Imagine the duet opportunities.

I spent hours in school reading and re-reading his email, and sent a reply once I got home.

**_To:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**__**

**_Dear Blaine,_ **

**__**

**_I am so thrilled to hear from you.  I’ve been waiting for you, too.  I feel like I love you already.  Do you live in Ohio too?  I’m in Lima, a backwater town with lots of truckers and bikers and absolutely no culture.  Where do you want to live when we get married?  I dream of living in New York City one day, but wherever we go, as long as you’re by my side, I’ll be happy._ **

**__**

**_XO Kurt_ **

A response came after only a few minutes.

**_To:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**__**

**_OMG IT’S YOU!!  I’M SO HAPPY TO HEAR FROM YOU!!!!!  I’m from Steubenville, Ohio.  It’s a little under four hours away from you.  Maybe once I’m done with classes on Friday I could drive out to visit you for the weekend?_ **

**__**

**_Truckers and bikers, huh?  That’s really hot.  Do you have any tattoos?_ **

**__**

**_XO Blaine_ **

I blinked at his email, confused for a minute.  Truckers and bikers, hot?  But maybe Blaine was a fan of  _Grease_ , like me, and was imagining Danny Zuko with his slicked-back dark hair and dangerous smile.  In any case, he wanted to meet me!

**_To:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**__**

**_Yes, it’s me!!  I will have to check with my dad to see if you can visit for the weekend, but we have a pull-out couch in the den, so he might say okay.  I don’t have any tattoos, no.  You have to be eighteen to get them, and I’m fifteen and a half.  How old are you?_ **

**__**

**_XO Kurt_ **

**__**

He didn’t write back that night, and I worried I’d said something wrong.  I asked my dad, and he said it was fine to have Blaine stay with us, as long as he got permission from his parents.  When Blaine finally replied the next morning, I saw that that wouldn’t be an issue.

**_To:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**__**

**_You’re fifteen?  Wow.  I’m a junior in college.  Well... I mean, the soul marks are never wrong, right?  I’m sure we’re compatible in every way.  Sure, I don’t mind taking the pull-out couch.  I’ll sneak up to your room after your dad goes to sleep to ride your cock all night.  How big are you?_ **

**__**

**_XO Blaine_ **

I nearly spat out my coffee as I read his email in the Lima Bean.

“What is it?” Mercedes asked eagerly from across the table.  “Did Blaine write back?  What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” I said, coughing and feeling my face flush.  “Just a joke.”  

**_To:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**__**

**_Haha, I don’t think there’ll be any funny business going on when you visit, we’ll have just met!  And I’m 5’8”, but still growing._ **

**__**

**_XO Kurt_ **

The reply came almost instantly.

**_To:_ ** [ **_kurthummel@google.net_ ** ](mailto:kurthummel@google.net)

**_From:_ ** [ **_blaineanderson@aol.net_ ** ](mailto:blaineanderson@aol.net)

**__**

**_You’re so cute.  I meant how big is your cock._ **

**__**

**_XO Blaine_ **

**__**

This time I really did choke on my coffee.

 

* * *

Blaine’s last class ended at 2:10, so he said to expect him in Lima by 6:00.  I skipped glee club and got home right after school ended, to change into my skinniest pair of jeans and make sure my hair was absolutely perfect.  I put a lasagna in the oven to bake.  Then there was nothing left to do, so I paced back and forth in the den until my dad got home from work at 5:20, and then we paced together.  I think he was nearly as jittery as I was.

“He sound like a good guy?” he asked.  “In his emails?”

In truth, Blaine’s emails had made me sort of uncomfortable.  I’d made it clear that we wouldn’t be sleeping together, but he kept talking about sex.  In, like, every single email.  “Yeah,” I said faintly.  “I mean, he’s my soulmate, so...”

“So he’s perfect for you,” he nodded.  “So we shouldn’t worry.”

We both kept pacing.

At 5:56, the doorbell rang.  Dad shot to his feet.  “I’ll, uh, check on dinner.  Give you two some privacy.”

I took a deep breath, peeling my glove off.   _Blaine Anderson_ , my palm reminded me cheerfully.  My heart pounded as I approached the front door.

The doorbell rang again, and I opened it, smiling nervously.  And then I relaxed.

“False alarm, Dad!” I called.  Standing on our doorstep was a tall, willowy woman with long blonde hair.  She smiled at me.  “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Kurt Hummel?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m Blaine,” she said, holding out her hand.  “Blaine Anderson.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s funny, the things you remember, and the things you don't.

I don’t remember what Blaine Anderson was wearing when she showed up at my door, but I remember the swirl of the letters on her palm, traitorously spelling out _Kurt Hummel_. I don’t remember what we talked about at dinner, but I remember the devastated look on my dad’s face when he first caught sight of her. My heart didn’t have to break in that moment; my dad’s broke enough for the both of us.

It became a weekly tradition. Blaine would show up on Friday nights in time for dinner, and stay through till Sunday afternoon. Weekends, once my respite from the torture of school days, became the most dreaded days of all.

“Call me BJ,” she told me one day, her gloved palm rubbing my knee as we watched a movie on the couch. “Everyone does.”

“Because your middle name starts with a J?” I asked, freezing as her hand moved higher up my thigh.

She smirked. “No, because I’m very, very good at giving—”

“What’re we watching?” Dad asked, appearing with a bowl of popcorn and plopping down on the other side of Blai... of _BJ_. I shot him a grateful look. He’d rearranged his work schedule so that he could always be home with us on the weekend. He'd also had a stern talk with BJ one day, telling her, “Soulmates or not, my son is still a child. I don’t want any funny business going on while he’s still a minor. Got it?”

It wasn’t the perfect solution. But for now, I was off limits, and that was something.

 

* * *

Meanwhile, the bullying at school got even worse.

“How did you end up with a girl soulmate?” Dave Karofsky demanded one afternoon, punching the lockers over my head.

“And a hot one,” Azimio added. “One in college.”

“A girl,” Karofsky stressed again. “A _girl_.”

He cornered me in the locker room one day with a desperate expression and tried to kiss me, but a well-placed elbow to the ribs and knee to the groin kept him at bay.

I’d gotten pretty good at evading unwanted advances, after all.

 

* * *

“You should get a tattoo,” BJ said one day, tracing her fingertips along my upper arm. It was the week before Christmas, and school was almost over. We hadn’t talked about whether she’d visit during the week once winter vacation began, but Dad had made a preemptive strike by announcing that I’d be going to work with him over break.

“A tattoo?”

“Yeah, like my name in a heart on your arm. It’d be so sexy.”

“Your name is already written on me,” I reminded her, clenching and unclenching my hand beneath its glove.

“Kurt,” she whined, flopping back on the couch dramatically. “Come on, work with me here. You’re not exactly what I expected, you know.”

“I’m...?”

“I always dreamed of Kurt Hummel as a big German guy,” she said, sulking. “Someone older, with big muscles, and tattoos. Maybe a ponytail.” She looked over at me dubiously. “Not... you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I said tightly, moving further into the corner of the couch.

“If you’d just get a tattoo—”

“I’m underage,” I reminded her.

“How could I forget,” she groaned. “My soulmate, the underaged fairy.”

I breathed in sharply. “You think you’re what I imagined? Some blonde bimbo who’s slept with every guy in Ohio?”

“I’m a virgin,” she said sharply. “I saved myself for you.”

“Yeah right.”

“I am.”

I looked over at her, and she nodded with wide eyes. “I swear. I only ever did oral and anal. I left the real deal for you.”

I got to my feet quickly. “I need to go study.”

“Kurt—”

“Don’t,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“Kurt, we have to talk about New Year's Eve,” she called out.

I stopped. “What?”

“My family’s having its yearly reunion in Pittsburgh, and my parents want you to come.”

“To Pittsburgh? With you?”

She huffed in annoyance, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’ll just be a day trip. We’ll go in the morning and leave Pittsburgh after midnight. I swear your precious virtue will remain intact.”

I breathed deeply, considering. “Why do you want me there? You don’t even like me.”

“My parents keep asking why they haven’t met you yet. Besides, if you go to that, you’ll meet my extended family too, so you won’t have to go to other events for a while. Lots of birds with one stone.”

“I’ll have to ask my dad,” I told her finally.

“Of course you will.”

 

* * *

The morning of the thirty-first, I rose early. I pulled on a pair of tailored navy slacks and a gorgeous periwinkle sweater, with my best McQueen jacket over it. I spent a long time on my hair, then glared at my reflection for a while.

Why was I trying to impress her parents? It’s not like their opinion mattered. We were stuck together no matter what they thought of me.

BJ pulled up to the curb promptly at eight. I waved goodbye to my dad, who offered to lend me a can of mace if I needed it, and ran out to get in the car. BJ greeted me distantly, and we began to drive.

It’s more than four hours to Pittsburgh on a normal day, but the traffic was particularly bad that morning. I fiddled for the radio for a while, letting the sounds of top 40 drown out the awkward silence in the car.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” BJ said finally, as we sat on Route 376.

“Oh, please. You can’t stand me.”

“That's not true. It’s just... I think we both had a lot of expectations about what our soulmates would be like, and we need to make some adjustments, that’s all.” She swallowed hard. “You’re a really nice person, Kurt. Plenty of girls I know ended up with assholes. I’m lucky I got a nice one.”

I shifted in my seat, surprised and a little touched by her words. She was right, of course. Everything had been so built up in my mind, ever since I was a kid. I'd spent so much time imagining the swelling orchestras and tingling skin and fireworks when I first touched my soulmate.

In truth, we had each other’s names on our hands. That was it.

But maybe, that could be enough.

“So tell me about your family,” I said, as the traffic finally began to move.

“We’re all descendants of the Anderson empire.” At my blank look, she shook her head. “Seriously? Cooper Blaine Anderson was a Scottish immigrant in the 1800s. He formed a partnership with Andrew Carnegie, and together they took over the steel industry in America.”

“Carnegie I’ve heard of. Wasn’t he a big philanthropist?”

“Yeah. Cooper, not so much. He kept all his money, so his descendents are all loaded. And every year we have a reunion on New Year's Eve at great-great-great-granddaddy’s estate in Pittsburgh.”

“That sounds nice, I guess.”

“It’s okay. A few hundred relatives flaunting their money and their latest boob jobs.” She sighed. “At least I won’t be mocked for not having met my soulmate this year. Even if you aren't what I told everyone to expect when I was younger.”

“All that wealth, and you wanted a tattooed biker guy?”

“I just wanted someone... unique.” BJ sighed wistfully.

“I guess I’m that.”

She laughed, and tousled my hair. “I guess you are.”

It took me twenty minutes to fix my coif afterwards, but I didn't really mind.

 

* * *

The Anderson estate was the sort of place I’d only ever seen in movies. A large wrought-iron gate led to sprawling, beautifully-landscaped grounds and a massive mansion sitting atop a hill.

BJ parked the car, and we walked side by side into the mansion. A blonde woman walked by and gave her an air kiss.

“Good to see you, sweetheart. Everyone’s out back.”

“Who was that?” I whispered as we walked on toward the back of the house.

“No idea.”

Behind the mansion was a huge patio, along with a pool and tennis courts. And as far as the eye could see, blond people decked out in gorgeous clothes and jewelry.

“Are these all relatives?” I gaped.

“Pretty much, yeah. Relatives and in-laws.”

"Do you know most of them?"

"No, but it's not really a problem. It's an Anderson tradition that the first-born son is always named Cooper and the second-born — or the daughter — is named Blaine. In honor of great-great-great-granddaddy, of course. So you have a 50/50 shot of guessing the right name, no matter who you talk to."

She led me toward a blond couple that looked exactly like the others. “Hello Mother, Father.”

“Blaine, dear,” her mother cooed, pressing a dry kiss to her cheek.

“You look well,” her father said, then looked me up and down. “This is the soulmate?”

“Yes, Father, this is Kurt. Kurt, these are my parents, Cooper and Diane.”

We shook hands stiffly.

“Good of you to join us today,” he said. “Please make yourself at home. Blaine, may we have a word with you in private?”

BJ shot me an apologetic look as they led her off, but I didn’t mind. I felt like I was at a Stepford Wives convention, and people-watching was one of my top hobbies. For a while, I tried playing my own version of Where’s Waldo, looking for non-blond heads. But other than a tipsy-looking brunette and a tall dark-haired man who kept pointing at the swans, I came up empty. So then I played Spot the Bottle Blond, but there were too many to count. Eventually I grew bored, and wandered off to explore the grounds.

It was beautiful here. I'd never imagined that Pittsburgh could be so lovely. The farther I wandered from the mansion, the quieter and stiller the air became. It felt like it might snow soon. I passed a small pond and smiled, imagining a little family of Mallard ducks swimming by in warmer weather.

BJ really wasn’t so bad, I thought, as I continued to walk. Her heart was in the right place. I could have done worse. We just needed to, well... get all our ducks in a row.

After a while, a large field appeared on the horizon. It was less manicured than the rest of the grounds, but even more beautiful in its natural state. I smiled a little sadly, remembering how I used to dream of meeting my soulmate in a place just like this. There was a wide wooden bench beside the field, and although it was occupied, there was plenty of room for two. I made my way over to it, hoping that the boy with dark curly hair wouldn’t mind sharing with me.


	3. Chapter 3

I drew closer to the bench, pausing when I heard a loud sniffle.  The boy reached into his coat to pull out a handkerchief — a  _handkerchief!_ — and dab at his nose lightly.  I debated leaving him alone and returning to the party, but the idea of facing the sea of blonds again was less than appealing.

“Excuse me,” I ventured.  “Would you mind if I joined you?”

He coughed quickly, shifting over on the bench and looking down.  “Of course, of course.”

I took a seat on the other side, gazing out at the field.  I didn’t look over at him; I could tell that he was wiping his cheeks with embarrassment.

“So,” he said finally.  “Are you a fellow Anderson?”

“Me?  No, no.  My soulmate is.”

“I should’ve guessed.  I think my mom and brother and I are the only ones with dark hair.”

“Black sheep?” I teased.

“Something like that.”  He let out a long breath.  “First time out to the estate?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What do you think?”

“Eh, it’s all right.”  I lifted one shoulder.  “Kind of small.  I guess your great-great-great-grandfather wasn’t one to flaunt his wealth.”  That earned me a soft laugh, and I smiled to myself.  “Actually, this field is my favorite part of the estate.”

“That so?”

I nodded.  “There’s something so beautiful about it.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” the boy said.  “This isn’t part of the estate.”

I turned to him in surprise, but he was looking down at his gloved hands.  “No?”

“No, this is actually part of a public park.  The bench, however, is on my family’s land, and apparently they get highly offended when commoners visit the park and sit on it.”  He glanced over at my coat, then looked away quickly.  “Though in clothes like that, there’s no way you’d be mistaken for a commoner.”

A blush bloomed across my cheeks, and I bit my bottom lip.  “You like fashion?”

“Not enough to own any McQueen myself, but I do rock a good Burberry coat now and again.”  He smoothed down his coat and I shot him an admiring glance.

“That’s a nice one.”

“Thanks.”

We sat in silence for a long time, before I garnered the courage to ask, “Are you all right?  You seemed upset before.”

He hummed.  “Birthday blues, I guess.”

“Today’s your birthday?”

“No, it was a week ago.  I, uh...” he shook his head.  “I turned fifteen.”

“And your mark appeared,” I supplied.

“It did.  My dad hired a private investigator to find my soulmate.  Only took a few days, as luck would have it.  He lives in Philadelphia.  My dad flew him here and we met yesterday.”

“And you brought him to the reunion?”

“Dad insisted.”

I whistled low.  “How’s he handling the pressure?”

“I don’t know.  He’s... he just... can we talk about something else?”

“Sure, yeah, of course.”  I tried to catch his eye, but his gaze was fixed on his gloves.  “Seen any good movies lately?”

“I’m more of a theater guy.”

“Me too!”

“I saw  _Rent_ when the tour came through Columbus a couple of months ago.”

“How was it?”

“Amazing,” he said, smiling.  “I had the biggest crush on the guy who played Angel.  Don’t judge me, but I waited at the stage door for an hour afterwards so I could meet him.”

“No judgment here.  I stood in the rain for three hours to go to Patti LuPone’s book signing.”

“You met  _Patti LuPone_?” he gasped, finally looking over at me.

And then, time seemed to stop.  

The boy had the lightest honey-colored eyes, framed by long, thick eyelashes.  His full lips parted as we stared at each other, and all I could think was, this was him.  This was him.  This was exactly who I’d always imagined my soulmate to be.

_Oh, there you are_ , my heart whispered.   _There you are._

“Beautiful,” he said softly, and I blinked.

“What?”

His cheeks flooded with color.  “I... sorry.  You are, though.”

I felt my own face grow hot, but I couldn’t look away from his eyes.  They were mesmerizing.  “You’re, uh... not so bad yourself.”  My hands itched to reach out and touch him, so I pushed them into my coat pockets.

“Patti must have told you to go into show business,” he said.  “With a face like that.  Or modeling.”

“Actually, she didn’t say anything to me,” I laughed, feeling the flush creep down my neck.  “I never got to meet her.  Apparently the bookstore didn’t supply her with her preferred brand of coconut water, so she threw a fit and stormed out.”

His eyes shone.  “I have to admit, I love a good diva tantrum.”

“Oh, you should meet my friend Rachel.  She’s training to be the next Barbra Streisand, only more demanding.”

The boy laughed, and I told him story after story about Rachel and her ego.  He told me about a boy named Wes at his high school, imitating him banging a gavel until I was clutching my stomach with laughter.

It was so easy to talk to this lovely boy.  He was sweet and attentive and funny.  We talked about our childhood struggles — him living in the shadow of his older brother, me growing up without a mother — and commiserated over bullying.  He wanted to be a singer, he told me, and my eyes lit up.

“You  _sing_ , too?”

And then it was on to music.  The boy favored top 40 but confided that he had a secret love for the golden oldies.  I swore I’d never tell a soul, then admitted that I wanted to star on Broadway one day.

“I’ll go to all your shows,” he said fervently.  “Every night.”

I believed him.  I believed every word he said.  This boy  _moved_  me, like no one ever had.  I wanted to melt into him until we couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

Overcome, I turned and looked back at the field.  To my surprise, dusk had fallen while we’d been busy talking, and stars were beginning to emerge in the sky.  “I should go... they’re probably wondering where I am.”

“No, don’t.”  He started to reach toward me, then stopped himself.  “Please, just a little bit longer?”

I couldn’t.  I couldn’t spend another minute with this enchanting boy, whose name I still didn’t know but who made me want to grab his hand and run, run, run away from BJ and the rest of the world.  “I really can’t stay.”

“ _But baby it’s cold outside_ ,” he sang softly.  I looked back at him in surprise, smiling.

“ _I’ve got to go away..._ ” I sang back to him.

“ _But baby it’s cold outside._ ”

“ _This evening has been..._ ”

“ _Been hoping that you’d drop in._ ”

“ _So very nice..._ ”

“Why isn’t it you?” he burst out, and my heart sank.

“What?”

“He’s  _awful_ ,” the boy said.  “Just awful.  He’s not even gay.  And he’s old.  He’s not... I mean, I imagined my soulmate.  My whole life, I imagined him, and I waited, because he was supposed to be perfect for me in every way.  And now I’ve met him, and he’s nothing like I imagined.”

“I—”

“You.   _You’re_  who I imagined.”

I took a shaky breath.  “I... I don’t know what to say.  I think maybe soulmates aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Then they should tell us that when we’re little.  I shouldn’t have to watch  _Sleeping Beauty_ every day as a kid and dream of what it’ll be like when I finally meet my soulmate and he makes me feel like I'm waking up.  Now that I’ve met him he makes me want to sleep forever.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He told me he won’t have sex with me, but that he’ll _let me_ give him oral sex,” the boy said furiously.  “Because a mouth is a mouth.  He  _said_ that.  He’s the worst match I could have possibly imagined.”

I smiled ruefully.  “At least you got a guy.”

The boy’s angry expression faded.  “No... you... really?”

“And it’s not like I’m floating in the middle of the Kinsey scale.  I’m 100% gay.”  I shrugged.  “Like I said, it’s not what people made it out to be.  But I’m dealing.”

“You shouldn’t have to  _deal_.  It’s not supposed to be like that.”

“But it  _is_ ,” I said sharply.  “This is how things work.  I’ll figure out a way to live with her, and maybe in time we’ll grow to love each other platonically.”

“And you’ll never feel passion,” the boy said.

“Maybe I don’t need passion.”

“Bull,” the boy breathed, and he reached out one gloved hand to clutch my shoulder.  "You deserve it.  We both do."  He leaned closer to me, and I found myself leaning in too, in spite of the alarms ringing in my brain.  He smelled amazing, and he licked his lips as we grew closer—

“ _There_  you are,” called a familiar voice.  “I’ve been looking for you forever!”

I pulled back at once, looking behind me to see BJ marching toward us.  She hadn’t caught our near-kiss, from the looks of things. 

I wondered if I wished she had.

“You missed dinner,” she said as she reached us.  “I didn’t know where you went.”

“I’m sorry.  We got to talking and I lost track of time.”

BJ and the boy nodded to each other.  The boy looked back at me, his eyes soft and miserable.

“Well, come on back.  Mother and Father want to introduce you around before the fireworks display begins.”

“I...”  I looked at the boy, my heart pounding.  “I’ll be right there.”

“No, you need to come now.”

“Just give me a few—”

“Kurt Hummel, I swear to god, if you don’t come with me right now I am going to lose my fucking  _mind_!” she screeched, and I shot to my feet in an instant.

“I'm sorry,” I said to the boy.  His mouth hung open, his eyes hazy and unfocused.  

“Kurt?" he whispered.  "Kurt Hummel?”

“It was nice meeting you,” I told him.   BJ was already stomping away, and I hurried to follow her.  


	4. Chapter 4

We walked back onto the Anderson estate, BJ complaining furiously about having to sit at dinner and make small talk without me.  I started to offer another apology, when I heard footsteps coming from behind us.  I turned to see the boy running toward us, a desperate look in his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it,” BJ said.  “The orchestra is already warming up on the veranda.  We don’t have any more time to waste here.”

“Perfect,” the boy said.  “I know a shortcut.”

To my shock, he grabbed my gloved hand in his, and we started to run together.  BJ sputtered in protest, but ran after us.  We cut across the lawn, ducking under a low-hanging tree, and I laughed in exhilaration.  I knew I’d be hearing from BJ about this later, but it was worth it. 

When we reached the mansion, the boy bypassed the veranda, heading into the home through a side door.

“Where are you _going_?” BJ yelled, struggling to keep up with us.  

We ran down a long hallway, my hand still clutched tightly in the boy's.  Then we ran up a tall marble staircase and down another hall.  

Then, we stopped.  The boy looked at me, his honey-colored eyes dark with longing.  

“In here,” he whispered.

I followed him into a dimly lit room, in which most of the space was taken up by several billiard tables.  At first I thought the room was empty, until I caught sight of a heavily-muscled man standing in the corner.  His skin was dark from the sun and rough from the wind, and he was dressed in ripped jeans and a tight black tank top.  His arms were completely covered in tattoos.

The man glanced up at us, then aimed his cue.  “What is it, kid?”

“I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

BJ caught up with us, panting heavily.  She leaned over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.  “I’m... going to... kill you...” she gasped.  “Don’t care if... you _are_ my... third cousin...”

The tattooed man’s eyes lit up in interest when he caught sight of BJ.  He straightened up, running a hand over his blond hair and down his ponytail.  “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he cooed.

BJ looked up and froze, her mouth dropping open.

The boy turned to me, his smile wide, but I just shook my head in confusion.

“Who is that?”

“I’m Kurt Hummel,” the man said, striding forward.  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sexy lady.”

“Kurt...?” BJ asked weakly.

The man reached out to shake her hand, and they both gasped.  Then the man tore off his glove, showing her the name _Blaine Anderson_ written on his palm in silvery script.

“It’s me,” BJ laughed, her eyes wet.  “It’s me, and it’s _you._ ”

“You’re Blaine?”

“I go by BJ.”

His eyes lit up.  “I have a tattoo that says BJ!”  Indeed, on his upper arm was a large heart, with the letters BJ inside.

“Because of me?” she asked, touched.

“No, because I love blowjobs.”

“I do too!”  

They launched themselves together, kissing and groping each other desperately.  When BJ’s top came flying off, the boy led me out of the room quickly, shutting the door behind him.

“I don’t understand,” I said.  “How can she have two soulmates?”

“She doesn’t.”  The boy lifted my hand, peeling off my glove gently and sucking in a shaky breath when he saw _Blaine Anderson_ written on my palm.  I watched as he pulled off his own glove.  Then I stopped breathing when I saw his palm.

_Kurt Hummel_.

“But how...  Out of all the people in the world... Two pairs with the same names?  How many Blaine Andersons...”

“At this party?” he said teasingly.  “The odds are pretty good.”

“So she’s not... and he’s not?”  I felt dumb, dizzy.  My head swam with the new information, and my heart reeled with the possibilities.  “We are?”

“Kurt,” said the boy — said _Blaine._ “May I touch you?”

I nodded mutely, and he reached out to touch my bare fingertips.  Instantly, I felt sharp tingles of pleasure shoot their way through my body like lightning.  I gasped, my knees weak, and fell forward until my forehead rested against his.

“It feels like magic,” I murmured, my heart pounding in my chest.  “It’s just like the fairy tales.”

“No,” he said. “This is better than the fairy tales.”

He stroked my neck gently, then tilted his head, leaning in to press his soft lips against mine.  I whimpered at the feel of him, the _taste_ of him.  Outside, the orchestra began to play, and colored lights flashed in front of my closed eyelids as fireworks lit up the night sky.

“You’re right,” I whispered as we pulled apart for air.  “Way better than the fairy tales.”

 

* * *

Eventually the sound of sex noises coming from the billiard room left us too horrified to stay on the landing.  We walked back down the stairs so that I could meet Blaine’s family.  They were standing near the pool, watching the fireworks.  Blaine introduced me to the three of them, explaining the mix-up, and all three of them smiled in relief.

“Ooh, baby, he’s gorgeous,” Mrs. Anderson said.  “You two are going to have a glorious time in bed together.”

“ _Mom_!” Blaine protested, blushing deeply.

“You are.  Bet he’ll be a tiger in the sack.”

“That’s enough, Pam,” Mr. Anderson said.  “They’re fifteen years old.”

“Now _you_ are what I expected for my brother,” said Cooper, pointing at me.  “Not the weird old guy.  Not that he was all bad.  He taught me how to ride a motorcycle, so I can put that on my resume.”

“Are you going to put on your resume that you fell off it three times?” Blaine grumbled.

“That’s not a bad idea, Squirt.  I can show off my stuntman experience.”

Mr. Anderson watched me and Blaine, glancing down at where we were tightly gripping each other’s hands.  “I’m assuming you boys would rather not be here,” he said, not unkindly.  “Do you want to go back to Kurt’s house?  Spend some time getting to know each other?”

Blaine turned to me with a hopeful expression.  “Do you want to?”

“I got a ride here with BJ,” I told him apologetically.  “I don’t have a way to get back.”

“You can use my car,” Mr. Anderson said.  “I’ll have my driver take you.”

“Your car?  But how will you get home?”

“We’ll catch a ride with Cooper.  As long as he doesn’t try to break the sound barrier on the way.”

Cooper gave him a thumbs-up.

“What do you think, Kurt?” Blaine asked.

I watched the lights from a firework flicker in his beautiful eyes.  “I think I don’t ever want to say goodbye to you.”

We hugged the Andersons and headed out to the front of the house, where Mr. Anderson’s driver was waiting for us.  I sent two quick texts as we pulled down the driveway — one to my dad to tell him that I was leaving for home, and one to BJ to let her know that I didn’t need a ride back.  Then, Blaine and I relaxed, holding hands and gazing at each other with dopy smiles.

“This started out as the worst day of my life,” he said.  “And now it’s the best.  How did that happen?”

“Fate,” I said, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles.  "I guess we should've had faith after all."

We talked about what was in store for our future.  Both of us wanted to go to college in New York City, to our mutual delight.  We imagined our future apartment, and debated whether we should adopt a cat or a dog.  

“Dogs are better with kids, down the road,” he said, and I felt my neck flush.

“You want to have kids with me?”

“I want everything with you,” he said fervently, and I kissed him again, and again, and again.  

 

* * *

The lights were still on in the living room when we reached my house.   We walked up to the door, opening it to find my dad sitting in front of the television, watching a New Year’s Eve special.

“Five minutes till midnight,” my dad said.  “I’m surprised she let you out of her clutches in time to...”  He trailed off as he caught sight of Blaine.  “Kurt?” he asked, standing up and walking toward us.

“Dad, this is Blaine Anderson,” I said.  I turned to ask Blaine to take off his glove, but he was already lifting his bare palm to show my dad.  I saw my name again, glinting in its silvery script, and it took my breath away all over again.

Dad pressed a hand to his mouth, closing his eyes briefly.  When he opened them again, they were glassy with tears.  “Soulmates?”

“Soulmates,” I nodded.

“Oh, thank god.”  Dad swallowed heavily, clearing his throat.  “Thank god.  Oh, kid, come here.”  He caught me in a bear hug, and I felt my own throat grow tight with emotion.  When we separated, he swiped his hand across his eyes without shame.  “I’m so happy for you.”

“Us too, Dad,” I murmured, looking back at Blaine.  “We're happy too.”

Dad looked back at the TV.  “You boys want to watch the ball drop with me?”  He turned back to catch the look between me and Blaine, and laughed at us.  “No, you want to go be alone together, don’t you.” 

“Just to hold each other,” Blaine said quickly.  “Would you mind if I slept in Kurt’s room tonight?”

“No funny business?” Dad asked.

“No, sir,” Blaine replied fervently.  “Kurt matters too much to me to rush things.  He matters more than anything in the world.”

Dad’s eyes softened.  “Glad we agree on that.”  He paused, considering, then jutted his chin toward the stairs.  Blaine and I nearly tripped over each other in our haste to reach my room.  Then we stood quietly, wrapped up tight in each other’s arms.  

“Will you think I’m ridiculous if I tell you I love you already?” I asked him.

“If you’re ridiculous, then so am I, because I love you back.”  He leaned forward to kiss me again, softly and sweetly.  “Just to warn you, I’m just a silly romantic.”

"I wouldn't want you any other way."

 

* * *

The End

 

 


End file.
